“I asked what points you thought Shakespeare was making about romance.”
“Well,” I say, grabbing Molly’s book off her desk and flicking to act 1, scene 5. “ ‘How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague?’ ” I read, repeating the character Olivia’s comparison to love being a literal illness.
“Romance, love… It’s like the plague,” I say with a shrug, returning the smug energy he gave me a moment ago. “If you’re feeling as dramatic as Olivia is, at least.”
I close the book and slide it back onto Molly’s desk. “Then
again, she just met the person she’s talking about, so dramatic is kind of her thing.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair. “So, I guess you could say Shakespeare’s making two points. Love is suffering, probably because you fall in love with someone you hardly know. And plenty of people are in love with love and not the actual person.”
Molly snorts. “Maybe you’re projecting,” she says, tapping her fingers on the cover of the book. I wonder if she even realizes she’s speaking to the whole class. “I mean, it works out in the end, though, doesn’t it? For all the characters. Olivia, Viola, Sebastian, Duke Orsino. Everyone rides off into the sunset, completely content with their happily ever after, in whatever shape it takes. No one is suffering. The love they felt was enough, when it was felt for the right person.”